IN BED WITH BOONE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "You must be hungry," Marsh said, pulling out a chair for her. "Benita has prepared breakfast for us."

  "Lovely," Jayne said, not at all hungry but not wanting to be rude.

  Benita must have been waiting for them to arrive. She walked into the room no more than two minutes after Jayne took her seat, bearing two large platters of food. Each platter held a Southwest omelette and an assortment of breads—a muffin, a biscuit, thick toast. Whatever she might prefer was there. Another younger girl was right behind Benita, with cups of coffee and glasses of juice.

  Jayne smiled and nodded at the two women, who responded with nods of their own, eyes downcast. Benita was obviously of Mexican descent, a middle-aged woman who did not smile. The other girl was blond and green-eyed and very pretty. She didn't smile, either.

  "You certainly do know how to make a guest feel welcome, Mr. Marsh," Jayne said as she sampled her omelette. "This is wonderful."

  "Corbin," he said as he dug into his own breakfast. "Only actors and directors call me Mr. Marsh."

  Jayne gave him her best political smile.

  "And I do want to hear about everything that happened," he added. "Who knows? Your adventure might make an excellent film."

  Jayne almost choked on her biscuit. "I hardly think so," she said when she'd recovered.

  "Well," he prompted, "what happened?"

  Jayne took a deep breath. She'd have to continue to tell the story she'd used to pacify the police last night. "I was kidnapped briefly. Locked in a horrid little room in a horrid little house, and when the criminals weren't looking, I ran."

  "You just … ran," he said.

  Jayne nodded. "I caught them off guard, I think."

  "You're a brave girl," Corbin said, flashing his Hollywood smile.

  She didn't bother to tell him that she didn't feel at all brave.

  * * *

  "What do you mean she's not here!" Boone shouted. He leaned over the front desk, and the manager of the hotel—Kyle Norton, according to the gold name tag on his pocket—leaned sharply back.

  "Miss Barrington is not in, I assure you," the pale man repeated.

  Behind him, Del and Shock waited. At the news that Jayne was not in, Shock mumbled something obscene.

  Boone took a deep breath. Calm. He needed to remain calm. It had been bad enough when the operator had refused to put his call through to Jayne's room. A sheriff's deputy running interference had finally gotten him through … and no one had answered the damn phone. Of course no one had answered. Jayne was doing exactly as he'd asked her. She was avoiding the press. "She told you to say that, I understand. But this is important!"

  Del stepped forward and flashed his badge. "It's extremely urgent that we speak to Miss Barrington," he said calmly.

  Norton studied Del's badge. "She's not here, I swear it. She checked out very early this morning."

  "Checked out?" Boone shouted. His heart dropped to his knees. "Was she alone?" he asked in a lower voice. Please, please, let her be alone. If the manager told them Jayne had left this hotel in the company of a very large man—

  "Yes," Norton said. "She left alone. A car met her out front."

  "And you didn't ask her where she was going?" Boone reached over the counter and grabbed Norton's shirtfront. The alarmed man looked to Del for help … and got none.

  "It's not my concern where our guests go when they leave us," Norton said, his voice almost calm, his Adam's apple working up and down.

  "A car met her," Del said, leaning on the desk beside Boone and the trapped manager. "Did you recognize the driver?"

  "No."

  "Did Miss Barrington seem alarmed at all or nervous?" Del continued.

  "No," Norton said quickly. "She seemed … a little tired, that's all."

  Del offered his large hand to the manager, palm up. "We'll need the key to her room."

  Norton glanced warily at Boone. "It's over there," he said, pointing to the opposite end of the desk.

  Boone released Norton abruptly, and the man almost fell over backward. A half second later Norton was back with a key card. "It'll still work. I haven't rekeyed the lock yet. Room 1012."

  The three of them made their way to the elevators, walking quickly, their strides long. People got out of their way, parting cooperatively as Boone, Del and Shock walked past. Maybe it was because they were moving with such purpose.

  Maybe people moved aside because not one of the three of them looked like this hotel's usual guests. Then again, maybe it was because they were all armed.

  They had the elevator to themselves. "We'll check the airports first," Del said calmly. "She probably just decided to catch an early flight and go home. I'll have someone call the senator to check on that possibility."

  "She didn't fly out," Boone said.

  "How do you know?" Shock asked.

  "The itch in the middle of my back, that's how I know." Neither of them would argue with him on that point. You heeded your instincts when you worked the kinds of jobs they did. You didn't ignore the itch in the middle of your back.

  Jayne's room was neat and offered no clue as to where she might have gone. No notes by the phone, nothing in the wastebasket. Boone stalked through the hotel suite, wanting very badly to break something. Anything. He didn't.

  Something unexpected happened as he moved around. He felt Jayne here. Sensed her, smelled her. Some deeply hidden part of himself came to life, went on alert. She was his, and dammit, she had a way of finding trouble.

  The bed was hardly mussed. Jayne had climbed in, tucked herself beneath the covers and slept without moving an inch. This bed didn't look at all like the one they'd shared, covers ripped off and tossed aside, sheets twisted.

  He caught a glimpse of something blue beneath the covers and reached out to snag the T-shirt he'd bought her at the convenience store. Had she forgotten it? Or left it behind on purpose? She'd probably left it here for the maids to dispose of. A T-shirt from a convenience store was definitely not Jayne's style.

  "Okay," Del said sensibly. "Airports first, just in case. You want to call her father?"

  "Hell, no," Boone muttered as he fisted his hand around the T-shirt.

  "Dean still around?" Shock asked as he wandered into the bedroom.

  "He was planning to fly out this afternoon, but he'll stick around if I ask him to."

  "We could call in help…" Del began.

  "No. If this is connected to Gurza in any way, stirring things up will only put Jayne in danger." More danger than she was already in, dammit.

  Shock grumbled, "So the four of us are supposed to go after a legendary bad guy we don't even know where to start looking for?"

  Boone didn't trust anyone else. He certainly wasn't going to trust a local cop who might very well be in Gurza's pocket. A man didn't stay invisible this long without a little help.

  "Five," he muttered. "I have another brother."

  * * *

  A quiet day at Corbin Marsh's home was just what she needed, Jayne decided as she stepped into the courtyard after a long afternoon nap. Corbin had excused himself to take care of some pressing business, leaving her to relax. He'd offered the use of his library, Benita's assistance in fetching anything she might desire and the most exquisite room she'd ever stayed in.

  The blue room where Harvey had carried her things was large and square and decorated in varying shades of blue that should not have worked but somehow did. The furniture was simple but elegant, the fabrics lush and expensive. The effect was soothing. The room had a king-size bed, its own bathroom—including a whirlpool—a television and a pair of wonderfully fat chairs that sat by the window overlooking the courtyard.

  At the center of the courtyard, where Jayne had decided to spend the afternoon, a fountain sparkled and sprayed and gurgled. The patio floor was of red tile, and so many tall, well-cared-for plants filled the courtyard it seemed completely isolated, even though it was bracketed on three sides by the pink stucco house. The fourth side of the square opened o
nto a vast and empty prairie she could barely see through the lush growth and the ornate wrought-iron fence.

  For the afternoon she'd changed into a pale yellow sundress and a pair of simple white sandals. If she was going to relax here, she might as well really relax. Before she got on with her life, she needed to find herself again. She needed to decide who she wanted to be.

  Boone knew exactly who he was. She envied him that. He had a purpose—finding his lost children—and never wavered from it. He was open and honest and, yes, occasionally crude.

  Everything she was and had been for years was tied up in her father. Her family. She had nothing that was truly her own, and until she'd met Boone that hadn't bothered her. Now she wondered who she was, who she could be.

  Marsh joined her, Benita right behind bearing two tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of homemade cookies.

  "It is lovely, isn't it?" he asked, his smile bright.

  "Yes," Jayne agreed. "Enchanting."

  She needed to remember that she was here to drum up support for her father. Corbin Marsh represented a lot to a politician with hopes of moving onward and upward. He had money of course, but more than that he had connections to Hollywood, where actors and famous directors sometimes tended to be vocal about their political beliefs.

  Jayne felt a small uneasy butterfly take flight in her stomach. Being a senator's daughter was tough enough. If her father did one day run for president and he actually won, her position would be much more public than it was now. Sure, she had years before she had to worry, but still … she did worry.

  Marsh handed her a glass of tea, which she gratefully accepted. "Why is such a beautiful young woman like you spending the weekend at my house all alone?" he asked, sounding a little puzzled. "You should have many suitors trailing after you."

  She gave him a polite smile.

  "This Jim who was going to bring you to the party, the young fellow who was wounded, are you two—" Corbin gave his free hand a little suggestive wave "—involved?"

  "Heavens, no," Jayne said sharply. "Jim is just a friend of a friend. I barely know him."

  "There must be someone," Corbin continued with a sly smile.

  Jayne started to deny the implication, but she felt the heat of a blush rise to her cheeks.

  "I see I've gone too far," Corbin said. "Forgive me for being rude. I just can't imagine such a beautiful woman all alone."

  She didn't really think he was making a pass at her, but with Marsh it was difficult to tell. "I'm not exactly all alone," she said.

  "I'm glad to hear it," he said, "and not surprised. I'm afraid your blush gave you away. It's so refreshing to meet a woman who doesn't lie as if it's second nature."

  Jayne was trying to come up with a proper response, something not offensive that would, nonetheless, defend her gender, when a new sound drifted to the courtyard. She could swear it was a child's laughter.

  Marsh heard it, too, and turned toward the courtyard doors that stood wide open. "I believe you are about to meet my nephew."

  "I didn't even know you had a nephew," Jayne said with a smile. "Does he live with you?"

  "Yes. Drew's mother was my sister. She passed away a few months ago and I've had him with me ever since."

  "How sad," Jayne said, "about your sister."

  Marsh shrugged off her concern, but didn't look her in the eye. "My little sister was always a bit of a problem. Wild. Reckless. Drew is the only thing of value she ever produced."

  His words were harsh for a loving brother, but perhaps he was still angry about her death.

  The laughter came closer and was accompanied by the sound of small feet pounding on the tile floor. "Drew!" an exasperated female voice called. A babysitter? A nanny? She couldn't see Corbin Marsh taking on the care of a child, so she imagined it was a nanny who chased Drew through the house.

  Marsh turned to meet his nephew as the boy flew through the open doors. The producer crouched down and offered his arms, and the child flew into them. An exasperated young woman with pale-brown hair and a lean face stopped in the doorway.

  "What did you learn today?" Marsh asked, eyes on his nephew.

  Jayne heard a small voice respond, "I learned the B sound and the C sound and we watched a movie."

  "Was it a good movie?"

  "Yes! It was about dragons."

  With a wave of his hand, Marsh dismissed the nanny. The young woman withdrew.

  Corbin turned around with the child in his arms. "Drew, we have a guest, and I want you to be especially good while she's here."

  "'Kay," the boy said.

  Jayne saw dark hair first, then a full cheek, and when the child turned to smile at her, she almost dropped her glass of tea. After the harrowing events of the past several days, she knew better than to give herself away. She didn't jump or scream or mutter, "Oh, my God." She didn't run or faint or tremble. She hoped to high heaven she didn't turn too pale.

  "This is Miss Barrington," Marsh said.

  Jayne touched Drew's cheek with tender fingers. His skin was so soft, so delicate and fragile. "Miss Barrington is a mouthful. How about plain old Jayne?"

  "Miss Jayne, then," Marsh said as he shifted the boy in his arms. "I want Drew to grow up with some proper manners. Say hello to Miss Jayne, Drew."

  "Hello, Miss Jayne," the boy said shyly.

  "Hello, Drew," she said. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

  Jayne's heart hammered. Her mouth went dry. The boy Marsh said was his nephew was the child in the picture Boone had shown her. There was no doubt in her mind.

  Drew was Andrew Patterson.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Doug and Marty weren't talking. At all. Jayne Barrington hadn't been on any flight out of Flagstaff that day—no surprise to Boone—and a deputy U.S marshal calling to ask the senator from Mississippi if he'd heard from his daughter that day had only managed to rile the man up again.

  Every minute that passed without news, Boone's insides wound a little more tightly. Had he thought that once he had her away from the shack, this was over? Stupid. He should have known Darryl wouldn't just let Jayne walk away. He should have known there would be a price to pay for his arrogance and his rash decisions. There always was.

  Darryl was in with Gurza, and Gurza had no qualms about killing people who got in his way. Boone couldn't help but think of Erin Patterson, who had ended up shot full of drugs and left to die on a dead-end street. Darryl wouldn't have a second thought about doing the same thing to Jayne, no matter who she was.

  Del and Shock were hitting all the bars and pool halls Boone had visited during his time in Arizona. These were Darryl's hangouts, his places of business. Right now the agents were undercover as potential customers. If someone blew their cover, Doug and Marty would take the blame.

  Boone's brother Clint had recently arrived at the hotel after catching an early-afternoon plane from his home in northern Alabama. Norton, the cooperative hotel manager, had given the three brothers two connecting rooms. Anything to get Boone away from his front desk.

  Boone sat on the edge of one bed, staring at the floor, while Dean stood at the window and Clint paced. Why was it the only time they got together was for holidays and when there was trouble?

  "Okay," the youngest Sinclair brother said, "I think I got it. Except for one thing. Why are we looking for this chick, instead of some … I don't know, Navy SEALs or commandos or something?"

  Boone lifted his head and glared at Clint.

  "Oh," Clint drawled, deciphering Boone's look quickly. "I see."

  "You see nothing," Boone growled. "I got her into trouble, I'm getting her out."

  "Fair enough," Clint said, unconvinced but not pushing the issue. Clint never pushed the issue. He was one of the most laid-back men Boone had ever met. Sometimes he wondered if they were really related by blood.

  "Once Del and Shock get a lead on Darryl, we move in. Quick and hard—there's no other way." He waited for the cel
l phone on his hip to ring. He waited for Del and Shock to come through with … something. Anything.

  He had a really bad feeling that Jayne wouldn't make it through the night without him.

  * * *

  Jayne waited, knowing that to rush to the telephone so soon after meeting Drew would be a mistake. She waited. An hour. Two. Using the excuse that the nights got cool and she needed a sweater, Jayne went into the blue bedroom, took her purse from the bottom dresser drawer and grabbed Boone's business card, dropping it into the pocket of her yellow sundress before slipping on a lightweight white cardigan.

  And then she waited some more. She and Corbin talked about films he'd produced, books they'd read and Drew. They talked a lot about Drew. Jayne kept trying to come up with some explanation for Corbin's lie that he was Drew's uncle, some rationalization. He seemed to truly care about the little boy. Was he working for the man Boone searched for? Were they even, perhaps, partners? She wanted to believe that there was an innocent explanation for the boy's presence here, but she couldn't come up with one.

  Finally Marsh excused himself to make some urgent business calls from his office. Jayne stopped him as he was leaving the room. "When you're finished, would you mind if I borrowed your phone? I really should call my father."

  "Of course." Corbin directed her to the phone in the library, which he said was on a different line from the one in his office, and when he left the room he closed the door behind him—but not quite all the way. It hung open a couple of inches.

  Instead of taking the card from her pocket, Jayne dialed her father's office number, his private line, praying he would still be in at this hour. He usually was. He answered the phone with a gruff, "Hello."

  "Daddy?" Jayne said.

  "Jayne! For goodness' sake, where are you? I've been worried sick. I had a phone call—"

  "I'm fine," she interrupted. "I decided to spend a few days at Corbin Marsh's house. He invited me here, and I thought maybe I could finish the job I came to Arizona to do."

  There was a moment of silence. When her father took these long pauses, it was not a good sign. He was collecting his thoughts, trying to come up with a calm and rational response. "And you didn't think to tell anyone where you were going?"